Mothers and Sons
by eirabach
Summary: A selection of scenes in the life of Rose Tyler, and her son. In the same universe as 'Fathers and Daughters'. Post-Journey's End. Alt!Verse. 10/Rose. WARNING: Baby!Fic: Contains scene of actual baby.
1. All That Ever Could Be

**A/N: Written as character studies for the relationship between Rose and her son in the epic-fic-I-never-wrote. Don't stand on their own too well, but I'm hoping that by posting them I might be inspired to write the epic fic in some form or other. Takes place in the same TARDIS-owning universe as all of my one-shots. **

**In fact, all my Doctor Who fics are outakes in some form or another from the same story. These particular ones just advance it past the expected point.  
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**Disclaimer: Not mine, absolutely belongs to the BBC. This is true of the whole story.  
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**All That Ever Could Be**

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Sometimes the screaming goes on for so long she forgets. She's no longer sure if it's him who's wailing - for reasons she's sure she'll never understand - or if her own sobs for salvation are the only ones echoing around the brightly painted room. She feels the glass eyes of the stuffed creatures watching her - accusing her - as she fusses, and flaps, and tries to stop the tears streaming down her cheeks; but the vicious little voice that tells her that she's hopeless, useless and pointless, is her own. Her fear is that one day it will be his. Her fear is that it already is.

Most of the time, during what passes for the day in this paradoxical life she leads, he is smiling and laughing and she laughs right along with him. They go to brand new worlds, discover ancient civilisations, sometimes they just pop round to visit an old friend for tea, but whatever they are doing they're happy; content with what the multi-verse has gifted them, and safe in the knowledge that they are loved beyond all things.

The nights are different.

In the nights he is screaming and nothing, nothing, that she does can comfort him.

She makes him worse, she thinks, with her presence; whenever she approaches his tiny face is screwed up in horror; his little body arching away from her shaking hands. It makes her feel like such a failure and the stubborn part of her – that part that led her here (there) in the first, and second, place – refuses to admit defeat.

She sits by his cot - racking her brains for anything that might comfort him; anything except admitting how useless she really is at this - and for a moment he is silent. They watch each other warily, both faces red and shiny with tears, both sets of eyes blood-shot and exhausted; their hitching breaths the only sound. He reaches one hand out, and she does the same - still as awed as ever by his fingernails - and they sit, barely touching, his eyes round in terror and hers still heavy with tears.

He's frightened, she's always known that, but it's only now she realises what of. What it is that scares her miracle boy so deeply when the very multiverse bows and bends to his existance. It's not her presence that terrifies him so, but her absence.

And her mortal heart breaks.


	2. Tear the World Apart

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**Tear the World Apart**

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"You, my boy, are a total enigma."

The boy in question stands in front of her; attempting a nonchalant stance, but failing horribly as he casts his eyes about for an escape route. He lifts one hand to scratch awkwardly at the back of his neck in a gesture almost as familiar to her as her own reflection.

"Erm…" he says, scrunching his face into what he seems to hope is a neutral expression, "thanks?"

She's caught him up to no good before, of course. A penchant for trouble is hardwired into his very soul, and it's hardly the first time that she's walked in on some half-baked, half-cocked plan cooked up by the two (often all three) of them that's about to go horribly awry. It's the first time she's seen him like this though.

He's been sat in the darkest corner of the library tucked away behind the piano where he spends so much time, and hidden behind a pile of books that remind her more of a fort (built under the hazel tree at the edge of the playing fields in a life a million years from this) than the evidence of careful studying. Anyway, he isn't supposed to be studying trans-dimensional matter today. That's Thursday.

Within the little fort lie scattered pieces of paper that he scuffs behind him with the tip of a trainer as she leans in for a closer look. She catches sight of one; a moment caught in time from their last trip. She's laughing. He's watching. They're in a world of their own.

Relieved that his most recent plot appears to be nothing more dangerous than a photograph album she reaches forward to ruffle his blond hair. She flashes him a grin before wandering off into the depths of their home, calling for his sister, and muttering about tea. He waits till she's out of sight to return to his work; glad not to be found out; guilty for hiding the truth.

He reaches for another book, slips a photograph inside, and reads.

Her face smiles at him from every one of these books. His family's history caught and stilled on these silly human inventions.

The photographs will keep him going, and one day, one far-away day, he knows she will thank him. Convinces himself they all will.

He is more powerful than the inevitable. They'll learn that, and they'll thank him.


	3. Want You Safe

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**Want You Safe**

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He stands with his back to her; tall and straight next to his father; blond on brown; grey on blue. This is the moment she'd hoped never to see. The wolf is at the door, and she has been relegated to the back. Protected, watched over, and utterly helpless.

She is watching her son march off to war.

It was bound to happen some day; she knew that. He's as tall as his father now, and as brave, and perhaps she takes comfort in the fact that he's a little less inclined to engage the enemy in conversation, but she still can't accept the truth in front of her eyes. He's going to take them on to save the universe, and she should be proud, but all the time her heart is breaking because she can't protect him, and he shouldn't be the one protecting her.

Father and son's conversation is whispered, urgent, none of the stilted awkwardness that was apparent when they told her their plan, and she tries to listen in despite her horror at their words. She's angry that he should have to do this; angry at the creatures outside their doors who are baying for blood; angry at the man who admitted he had no other plan, that this was their only hope. He didn't apologise. She wonders if she'll forgive him regardless.

Their conversation is over, and father hands son the closest thing to a weapon he will ever hold. The blue eyes shine with joy; his father smiles sadly, proudly. She wants to smash the thing out of his hands, stamp it into dust, and run away from the end of the universe. She's sensible enough to realise that would never happen; enough herself to know that she would never let it. If she asked they'd all run away, and leave the universe to its fate. That's the only power she has. The only power she would never use.

She could ask.

They leave, casting glances of _I'm so sorry_ and _I love you so_ over their shoulders and the whole TARDIS shudders as the door closes behind them. Her guardian - her jailer, her second self - smiles at her from her side. They'll neither of them sit tight for this one. Perhaps _he_ never really knew them, and perhaps now he never will.

Something bright and golden rises in her chest as she sprints for the door.

They face the screen together. Again.


End file.
